NARCISSIST

ELEVEN

My body aches when my mind wakes to utter silence. For only a moment, it's peace. Then, blurred memories flood back to my brain. All I know is that I drank to the point of throwing up and for some reason, my head doesn't hurt as bad as it should. I open my eyes and immediately close them again from the sudden brightness peering through the windows. After a moment or two, I take in the smells of my surroundings. I'm not home.

Vague memories of Harry float into my brain. Suddenly, I smell Harry everywhere. It's enough to make me sit up and open my eyes. I'm in a bedroom. I'm still in my tight dress, which partly explains my body aches, and my heels are sat on the floor next to the bed. Otherwise, I'm all alone. I stand, and it's at this moment that I'm all too aware of the excruciating push on my bladder. I slowly and cautiously move to the door, and I open it with care so not to make noise. I eye a bathroom straight across the hall. I quickly step into it. I do my business, wash my hands, and glimpse at the mirror. I do a double-take; I look terrible. I rub my eyes to try and get excess makeup off. Next, I run my fingers under the water and try to wipe away the makeup that way, only it's smearing it and not efficiently removing it. I huff. As I scan my reflection, I think about Garrison. Where did he go? It's enough to take me out of the bathroom. I return to the bedroom without sparing a glance down the hall to see where Harry may be. I find my phone on the nightstand. It's at 4%. My stomach tingles with something when I find no texts or calls. Suddenly, I only hope they're okay. I shoot Garrison a text.

After minutes of awaiting a response, I urge myself to get up. I wander warily toward the main room of the apartment and peer into the kitchen. I relax when I realize that no one is here. It's morning. Harry has a class.

I sift through his cupboards. Normally, this would be against my manners, but I'm starving. I don't necessarily care much about manners when it comes to Harry, anyway. I find a box of Cap'n Crunch cereal, breathing out a laugh through my nose as I scan the box. I haven't had this cereal in years. I pour myself a bowl with a carton of oatmilk I find in his fridge, and I down a glass of water along with it, realizing how dry my mouth was and how thirsty I feel. As I eat, I slyly scan the place. To my surprise, it's well-organized, unlike mine. He must live alone.

After a long and peaceful twenty-five minutes of silence, the door opens with a click. Harry, in sweatpants and a tank top, catches my eye from the main living room. He sets his bag (the one he always has at class) on the couch and tosses his keys onto the counter. He walks into the kitchen without saying anything, opens the fridge, and pulls out a plum. He bites into it. He glances at me and clicks his tongue three times.

"Someone's got a hangover," he returns to the living room and pulls out a water bottle, taking a swig of it before returning his attention to the plum.

"Whatever," I grumble.

"What happened to the boyfriend?" he asks mindlessly as he walks back into the kitchen and fiddles with a loose thread on his tank with his free hand. He leans against the counter.

"Um," I start with a slight shake of my head and a shrug. My mind shifts quickly to my cell phone in the other room. "I texted him," I mumble, mostly to myself. I dismiss myself and meet my phone in the bedroom. When I'm greeted with no response, I text him again. Anxiety and worry increases in my gut as time goes on. I stare at the screen in anticipation, scrolling up as if it will reveal a hidden text from Garrison. I'm interrupted when Harry walks into the room and sets his duffel bag down against the wall. My eyebrows lower.

"Is this your room?"

He looks at me like I'm brainless. "Well, yeah."

"Where'd you sleep?" I ask guiltily.

"The couch, and don't say it like that. Doesn't bother me." He sifts through his dresser drawers, pulling out clothes.

"He hasn't answered."